


“Je t’aime”

by Wxlves



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Blink and you'll miss it Malydia, Blink and you'll miss it Stydia, Happens around the middle of Season 6B, I briefly mention Brett's death bc I'm still not over it, M/M, Scott and Isaac are two dumb idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 17:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15778974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wxlves/pseuds/Wxlves
Summary: The person was wrapped in a long raincoat, neck to knees, with a navy blue scarf wrapped around their neck, concealing the lower half of their face. But the scent. Isaac.Scott hadn't realized he said it aloud until the figure, in slightly accented English, replied. “Scott?” This time Scott really did say it out loud, the words choking on their  way out his throat.“Isaac.”orScott goes to France to get Isaac(I promise this is better than the tags and summary suggest)





	“Je t’aime”

Scott glanced down at the crumpled paper in his hand.  _ Rue Bleu.  _ He cast about in his mind for the straggling remnants of middle school French that remained there-  _ Blue Avenue _ . An image flashed in his mind; blue eyes, impossibly bright, staring at him from under a mop of curls. He had to laugh at that; how appropriate. 

 

The rain had slowed in the several blocks from the Metro, but it was still a steady, incessant presence, soaking his shirt and converse. Upon reaching the correct street, Scott found that Parisian street numbers worked very differently from Californian street numbers. He was seconds away from panicking before realizing that despite his lack of navigational skills, he had another skill set that some would consider much more valuable. Feeling a cool breeze waft down the narrow street Scott tilted his head, lifting his nose into the wind, nostrils flaring. The city smell was washed out from the rain, a cleaner scent pushing its way in. Under the scent of the air he detected another, fainter one, of home and family and  _ pack.  _ Following that familiarity, he traversed up and down the street several times, cobblestones slick under his feet, and managed to cross the street a total of ten times in the one block he traveled. Finally, the scent grew stronger, enough that he was able to track it to the door of a dilapidated building, iron bars over the glass doors to discourage would-be robbers. Glancing at the now soaked, near-illegible paper he squinted, making out the words  _ Sixth Floor, Apartment B. _ He paused here, in the rain, looking up at the building that had become his Beta’s home these past years. Doubts flooded in, matching the torrent of water collecting and streaming in the side of the road.  _ What if he doesn't  _ want  _ to come back? He did leave for a reason.  _ Pushing the thoughts away, Scott steeled himself, straightened his shoulders, and pushed open the doors, unlocked despite the iron over them. 

 

There was an elevator, metal doors dull and dented, but Scott wouldn't have trusted it with his life, much less a trip up six floors. He started out slow but by the time he'd reached the second floor he was running, taking the steps two at a time; by the fourth floor he'd leveled into a flat-out sprint, three steps at a time, metal clanging under his feet. Bursting onto the sixth floor he whipped his head around wildly, spraying water as he did so.  _ Apartment B.  _ There were two doors, painted a fading, chipped blue, one with the letter A and the other with no letter, but a darker area of paint in the shape of a  _ B.  _ Turning to the left he knocked on the door, barely restraining himself from breaking it down. The scent of Isaac was everywhere, he couldn't possibly have the wrong apartment. When there was no answer he knocked harder, slamming the side of his fist against the wood. 

 

“Isaac? You there? It's me...it's Scott.” After a beat passed with no noise, Scott tried again. “Isaac?” He could hear someone coming up the stairs, heartbeat steady and slow, matching the rhythm of their footfalls on the steps. He was aware of the racket he was making, and even more aware of the sight he made, dripping wet, but he couldn't bring himself to care about what the neighbor might think. Sighing, he rested his forehead against the door, water falling in a steady, soft beat from his dark hair. The ascending neighbor had reached his floor and Scott half expected to hear scolding in French about the mess he was making. He didn't expect to hear a loud clattering, what sounded like cans rolling every which way. His head shot up, towards the noise, and he saw a tall, slender figure standing by the steps. The person was wrapped in a long raincoat, neck to knees, with a navy blue scarf wrapped around their neck, concealing the lower half of their face. But the scent.  _ Isaac. _

 

Scott hadn't realized he said it aloud until the figure, in slightly accented English, replied. “Scott?” This time Scott really did say it out loud, the words choking on their  way out his throat. 

 

“Isaac.” 

 

The taller wolf pulled his scarf down from his face, revealing his grin. It was heartbreakingly familiar, reminiscent of that day in Deaton’s with the sick dog, so wide it crinkled the corners of his eyes. Scott launched himself at him, Isaac staggering back from the weight of the Alpha. His arms wrapped around the Beta's torso, just under his arms, nose buried in the crook of his shoulder. The smells of Paris permeated him, the smog the city is so famous for, baking bread and the ancient, rushing waters of the Seine. Under this unfamiliar mesh of scents, however, was  _ Isaac.  _ They stayed like that for a long while, until a loud throat clear from behind indicated one of Isaac’s apartment-mates wanted to pass by. The two wolves separated sheepishly, Isaac muttering a half-hearted, “Pardon, Monsieur.” The man just gave him a dirty look, stereotypical French attitude shining through. Isaac bent down to collect the groceries that had fallen, tall frame bent all kinds of ways so he could reach the ground, and Scott crouched to help him. In a moment belonging to every bad rom-com ever made, they both reached for a can at once, hands brushing, and stopped, laughing. “Sorry,” Isaac apologized again, this time in English. 

 

Scott sat back on his heels and tilted his head. “You’ve got an accent,” he observed, amused. Though faint it was definitely there, the French accent adding a sense of sophistication to the teen’s words. 

 

Isaac smiled, exaggerating his accent to the point of ridiculousness and replying, “eet ees zee accent of a finer culture, heathen.” 

 

“Teen Wolf may be a humiliating title to hold, but French Wolf is quite possibly worse.” 

 

Having finally picked up the last of the cans they stood up, Scott holding the food as Isaac searched his pockets for his keys. Finally finding them and unlocking the door, he opened it and gestured Scott in. “Welcome to my apartment, Scott McCall.” Scott couldn’t help notice his word choice.  _ Apartment,  _ not  _ home.  _ The apartment was larger and nicer than the outside would suggest, a spacious open room with both the living area and kitchen dominating the space. Two doors in the opposite wall presumably lead to the bedrooms, both were closed. 

 

“Since Argent’s left it’s been pretty quiet. Haven’t been in an empty house in years. I’m guessing Argent’s also the reason you’re here?” Scott nodded an affirmative, taking in the apartment where his Beta had spent the last two and a half years. “I like a surprise as much as the next person, but you couldn’t have called first?” 

 

Scott’s grin was sheepish, “I didn't have the money to call France.”

  * • •



When Argent had returned, smelling of Isaac yet alone, Scott was crushed. He’d hoped the werewolf would accompany the hunter in the fight, but he’d stayed in Paris while Argent returned to Beacon Hills after a brief time in South America searching for Kate and Derek. After watching Scott mope around half-heartedly going through the motions, Malia and Lydia staged an intervention. 

 

“You’ve missed him more than you ever let on, Scott. Argent returning alone just cemented the fact that he left us. And yes, he left  _ us,  _ plural, but mostly he left you. The two of you were so close.”

 

Here Malia interjected, “talk to Argent, as much as I hate hunters he's a good one, he'll know what to do.” There was something almost sad in her smile as she reached out and patted Scott’s shoulder in a well-meant yet awkward gesture. 

 

Argent’s first solution? Bring him home. “I don't have the money to fly to France, and what if he doesn't want to come? Then I've taken several days away from trying to catch this Anuk-Ite and we've gained nothing.” 

 

Argent was having none of that. “Isaac is powerful, a strong ally against this thing we’re fighting. Not only that, but right now we could use all the friends we’ve got.”

 

Scott's morose point of view still didn't falter, his usual optimism gone. “That still doesn't change the money problem. Or the fact that we’d just be dragging him into danger...that's the last thing I want to do.”

 

Argent gave the werewolf a strangely knowing look, eerily similar to Deaton’s, and replied, “I'll pay for your ticket and tell you where to find him, I know the address we’re staying at. And Scott, do you  _ really  _ think that boy wouldn't throw himself into any danger for you?” Scott had to concede to this point, he left two days later. Argent had handed Scott a piece of paper with their Paris address in a messy scrawl on one side,  _ Good Luck Scott,  _ on the other. Stiles took Scott to the airport, the Jeep rattling under them, with the promise to pick two wolves up for the way home. 

 

“Scotty, if you’re at that airport alone, sans Isaac, so help me God I will turn this Jeep around and leave your furry ass there.” Scott just laughed and shook his head. 

 

“You like me too much, you’d just make me sit in the trunk.” Stiles nodded his acquiescence and refocused on the road. 

 

The time from when he’d arrived at the airport until he exited the plane was a blur. All he had was a vague memory of getting pulled aside for a ‘random’ TSA check ( _ must be because they can’t resist my dark, potentially-Middle-Eastern complexion,  _ he thought, only a tad bitter), wandering around the small Beacon Hills airport wondering how he was getting lost (it really shouldn’t be this hard), and the dozens of smells and sounds that assaulted his senses. Once on the plane, sandwiched between a dozing old man and smartly-dressed business woman tapping away on her phone, he succumbed to his thoughts. Excitement over seeing Isaac again, fear of Isaac wanting to stay, and the deep tiredness that came from the endless hustle and bustle of the airport. By the time the plane was in the air and the fasten seatbelt sign turned off, Scott was asleep. He woke up almost two hours later with a crick in his neck, turning red when he realized his head had fallen onto the woman’s shoulder. He muttered an apology, which she brushed off with a rather insincere smile, and stood up to use the bathroom, more to escape his embarrassment than anything.

  * • •



“You got a threat of abandonment by Stiles, patted down by racist TSA workers and fell asleep on a stranger. Are you sure one Beta was worth that effort?” Scott, staring mournfully at his dinner, sighed. 

 

“It’s also raining and I got soaked. Thank you for lending me this sweatshirt, by the way.” Isaac’s sarcastic snort was not appreciated, judging by the look on Scott’s face. 

 

“Not my fault you’re underprepared.” He also enjoyed having his scent surrounding the Alpha, in a strangely territorial way, but he decided not to mention that. “Besides, your mom fed and clothed me when she could barely afford it for you, I figure I’m just returning the favor.” 

 

“For the record, I’m glad she did.” The smile Isaac gave him was smaller than his grin earlier, but no less enthusiastic.

  * • •



“Scott, what the hell, why would you sleep on the couch? Just sleep in my room.”

 

“I hate to-” Isaac cut him off with a wave of his hand. 

 

“We both slept in your bed more than I slept in my own, if you sleep on the couch I’ll just join you and trust me, Scott, it’s a lot smaller than my bed.” This effectively ended the argument, and the two boys could be found, minutes later, under the soft gray blankets on Isaac’s bed. Isaac was laying on his back staring at the ceiling, sleep not coming, while Scott sprawled on his stomach, face buried in his pillow. There was a beat of quiet followed by some shuffling, then Scott let out a strangled, decidedly un-manly shriek. Isaac’s soft laugh was delighted as Scott hissed, 

 

“Get your ice-feet off me. You’d always try this at home and you’re not going to do it here too.”

 

“You’re warm. I can’t help my poor circulation.” 

 

“You’re a werewolf, you don’t have poor  _ anything.  _ I don’t even understand how your feet can physically get this cold.” Isaac relented, moving his feet away. They were quiet for another short period of time before Scott whispered, softly, “I have a beta, now. A bitten one.” Isaac turned onto his side to face Scott and the Alpha did the same, the two wolves face-to-face. Scott could see the worry, the deeply- hidden fears in his blue eyes. Smiling, he added, “you will always be mine, Isaac, no matter what. What people say, about the bond between a bitten Beta and Alpha, how strong it is...it’s almost like nothing I've ever felt before. The only thing it even comes close to is the bond I have with you.” 

 

Isaac didn't say anything to this, only closed his eyes and called his wolf to the surface. When he opened them again blue eyes met Scott’s. Not gentle grey-blue but a cold, steel blue, glowing with power. Scott, to his everlasting credit, didn't even blink, he simply reached out and gently traced his fingertips around the corners of his eyes. “Different, but still beautiful.” The way he said the words sounded like an echo of something heard or said before, long ago, though Isaac didn't know what. “Maybe someday you’ll tell me how it happened, but it doesn't have to be tonight.” The blue-eyed wolf just closed his eyes, the smallest of sighs escaping him when the shorter boy wrapped a tattooed, muscled arm around his shoulders drawing him close. They fell asleep like that, tucked into each other, together again at last.

  * • •



To Scott’s delight, Malia didn't draw her claws and growl when Isaac walked in which, until now, had always been her first instinct when encountering a new thing or person. However, her current reaction wasn't winning her any points. “You're rather unimpressive.” Isaac, upon walking in, had curled himself inward, making his posture as small as possible. It was his go-to defense mechanism, and it always had been. Despite this, at Malia’s words his lips curled into a snarl and he lunged, faster than anyone could react. Less than a second later the coyote was pinned against the wall, one clawed hand holding her in place around her neck. Long canines glinted inches from her throat and blue eyes flashed. Malia, in return, opened her mouth and  _ roared _ , the sound vicious and unafraid despite her position. Nobody moved an inch, the wolves understanding this was a test, beta to beta, pushing the other’s limits to see if they'd break; Lydia and Stiles knew enough to take their cues from the weres. After several seconds of tense silence Isaac let go with a nod, deeming Malia strong enough to watch over their Alpha, Malia reaching the same conclusion. 

 

“Well, if the alpha-male posturing is all done, I’d like to say hello,” Lydia cut in, shouldering past her friend to reach Isaac. Lydia and Isaac hadn't been particularly close at first, though each had taken an instant liking to the other once Isaac dropped his bad-boy facade in favor of his true personality. Despite this, Isaac was slightly startled when the redhead ( _strawberry_ _blonde_ , Stiles’ voice echoed in his head) wrapped her arms around his torso, head resting on his chest; the banshee was well over a head shorter than him. Isaac returned the hug after a pause, before a familiar voice caused his head to snap up. 

 

“I'm glad you've sorted out whatever issues there may have been, because this house  _ still  _ doesn't have a supernatural ability to heal and Isaac, dear, you  _ knew  _ that already.” Isaac extricated himself from Lydia’s hug, though she'd already begun letting him go. He shot towards the woman standing in the doorway to the McCall’s living room, the nurses scrub-clad figure a welcome familiarity. Melissa laughed and patted his back when he picked her up, arms wrapping tight in a boa-constrictor hug as he lifted her off the ground. “Have you gotten taller, Isaac? Lord knows if that's even possible, but I'm sure you'd find a way.” He just gently placed her back down, strategically angling his body so she was subtly behind him. Melissa sounded exasperated as she attempted to peek over his tall frame, “honey, I have nothing to fear from any of these lovely young people.” Isaac sheepishly shuffled aside. The whirlwind of greetings and meetings done, the energy in the room sank to regular levels for nearly a full twenty seconds, which was when Liam burst through the door. His eyes instantly landed on Isaac, though he reined in his protective instincts and kept his manners better than Malia had. 

 

Scott saw the instant Isaac’s eyes landed on the boy that he knew. Scott sent a prayer to whichever higher powers might listen that this encounter goes better than Malia and Isaac’s, with both Liam and Isaac’s tempers being enough to level the house. Fortunately, Isaac just stared, Liam likely wondering why he was the object of such attention. After a moment of silence Scott broke in, “Liam, this is Isaac Lahey, my first beta.” Nobody could ignore the claim staked in those words. 

 

“Uh, yeah, I remember you talking about him.” Turning to Isaac he addressed the beta, “heh, hi. I’m Liam. You probably knew that though. Gosh, Scott never said you were that tall, uh, wow.” Isaac continued to stare, more confused than hostile, as the younger boy’s face flushed bright red. Liam’s phone buzzed from his pocket and he reached for it, answering with, “The coast is clear. The unfamiliar wolf turned out to just be Isaac.” They could hear a voice on the other end, words unclear but confusion in the tone. “Isaac Lahey, Scott’s friend, he left town right after the Nogitsune.” This time the voice came through loud and clear, 

 

“Is he as hot in person as in that one picture?” 

 

Isaac’s brows shot up and Liam snorted, “dude, he’s a werewolf and so’s half the people in this room. They all heard you say that.” 

 

The only response was, “be right there,” followed by the click of him hanging up. Seconds later, he must have been in a car outside, Mason burst into the room, grinning widely. His eyes instantly landed on Isaac and his jaw dropped. “Okay, hotter.” Isaac squinted at him, trying to find out of he was kidding or not. “Wow, you could totally rock a ‘blue steel’ kind of look, your eyes are really blue. But like, grey blue, not light blue. Sorry, I’m rude, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Mason. Mason Hewitt.” He flashed a grin and Liam sent Isaac an apologetic, exasperated look to which Isaac shrugged and responded, “a mental patient banshee called me her type. I’ve had worse.” 

 

Scott decided now would be a good time to interrupt the conversation. 

  * • •



“I can clear out the guest bedroom if you'd like, honey, but I have a feeling you won't need it.” Melissa’s smile was kind but there was a glint in her dark eyes.

 

She exited the room with a wink at her son, once she was out of earshot Isaac turned to Scott, laughing. “I think your mom thinks we're sleeping together.” Scott's shrug was nochalant. 

 

“I think she thought that even before you left.” 

 

Isaac nodded. “Fair enough” 

 

Scott grinned, clapping Isaac on the shoulder a tad more aggressive than strictly necessary. It seems he still didn't always know his own strength. “I'm going to hop in the shower, you good here?” 

 

“Always.” 

 

Isaac perched on the edge of Scott’s bed, taking in the room around him. It had hardly changed a bit in the years he’d been gone, the biggest difference the addition of a heavy metal band poster, featuring a wolf with red eyes. Scott  _ would _ find that funny. 

 

A noise at the window startled Isaac and be turned, claws out, when a short, angry beta tumbled into the room. Liam drew up short the instant he saw the older beta, subtly taking a step back. “Uh, sorry man, I was looking for Scott but, uh, I’ll come back later.” 

 

“Just stay, he's in the shower but he’ll be out soon. He probably knows you're here anyway.” Liam shuffled his feet awkwardly before sitting on the edge of the bed in a prime position to flee, several feet away from Isaac, who turned to him. “I know my eyes are blue and fangs are sharp but I don't bite, you can sit closer.” Liam declined the invitation with a noncommittal noise. “Why are you looking for Scott? Is everything okay?” 

 

Isaac figured the best way to help Beacon Hills would be to start within his own pack.  _ Pack.  _ That was a word he hadn't used in a while. Besides, Liam’s eyes were downcast and filled with countless emotions, chief among them sadness. At first he seemed inclined to ignore the newcomer but after a pause he spoke. 

 

“Why did you leave again? It was Allison, right?” 

 

Isaac felt his heart drop at the mention of her name, the grief and rage it brought up even now. Swallowing nervously, he replied. “Yeah, that was part of it, but- I guess this town had a lot of other ghosts as well.” Liam regarded him with eyes like an ocean, depthless and never ending. 

 

“This town has too many ghosts,” he amended, and Isaac had to agree, wondering who or what haunted this younger boy. 

 

That was when Scott stepped from the bathroom, nodding a greeting at both his betas before turning to the shorter of the two. “Is it the usual?” Isaac took the moment to excuse himself from the room, slipping into the kitchen to grab a snack. 

  * • •



Scott's legs were tangled with Isaac’s as they lay in Scott’s bed, facing each other. 

 

“He's been through a lot for someone so young,” Scott was saying, but Isaac shrugged. 

 

“We were the same age. I wonder if we looked so  _ haunted  _ though.” Scott's eyes were dark as he regarded Isaac in the dim half-light coming through the window. “Who did he lose?” 

 

Though seemingly an assumption, there was surety in Isaac's voice that said he knew, knew that look he’d seen in the ocean-grey eyes. 

 

“Brett Talbot, he played lacrosse with Liam at Devenford until he transferred. They were on bad terms for a while until Liam was bitten, then Brett took him under his wing.” 

 

“Brett was a wolf?” 

 

“Yes, he and his sister were part of Satomi’s pack, until they were all killed.” 

 

“Liam blames himself for his death.” It wasn't a question. 

 

Scott heaved a world-weary sigh, “Killed by hunters. Liam could hardly have saved him by himself but you know how it is with guilt. He watched him die in the street in front of him like an animal. Gerard and Monroe set a trap for him that nobody could have foreseen. They got him with wolfsbane powder, then a poisoned arrow, then set a trap in the tunnels. Ended it with a car, right when we thought they were safe.” 

 

Isaac heard the pain in Scott’s voice as he recounted the night, cringing at how slow and painful it must have been, before his brain zeroed in on one thing Scott had said. “Gerard?” He sputtered incredulously. “I thought that fuck was dying in assisted living with black fluid pouring from every orifice.” 

 

“I wish. Chris healed him, brought him back to help us kill the Beast of Gevaudan.”

 

“And in turn he kills an eighteen year-old Buddhist wolf.” At Scott's surprised expression he snorts, “I’ve heard of Satomi, Scott, I know most of her pack’s Buddhist. Even in France she’s famous. Almost three hundred years old and sharp as a tack, not to mention strong as steel.” 

 

“Seems like you've kept up with us then,” Scott laughed. “You weren't surprised when I mentioned La Bete.” 

 

Isaac’s eyes rolled in a display of his old attitude. “I was in France, Scott, the home of La Bete, of course I knew about that.” 

 

The two boys continued catching up, their conversation filled with light, easy banter as the night wore on and the moonlight slid from one side of the pillow to the other, shining through the window. Isaac reached out a hand, fingers dragging through the silver patch of pillow between them as though the light was something palpable, that he could touch. After a moment he let his hand drop, relaxing it onto the pillow, and Scott reached out a hand, curling his short fingers in between Isaac’s long, slender ones. 

 

“I missed you, Scott.” The words sounded too intimate once they'd left his mouth so he corrected himself, weakly tacking onto the end, “I missed everyone.” 

 

“Missed you too, ‘sac,” Scott mumbled, eyes slipping shut and fingers still entwined with Isaac’s. Though the time zone change had tricked Isaac’s brain into thinking it was early he still managed to shut his eyes and begin drifting off to sleep. 

  * • •



“I like Isaac.” 

 

Lydia’s snort was a hair short of derisive. “Of course you do, because holding you in a chokehold against a wall and snarling like a beast is a wonderful first impression.” Malia’s brow furrowed at her unread textbook and she pouted. 

 

“I respect his strength, he's very strong even though he doesn't look it. Besides, I have to admire his protectiveness over Scott, he might have killed me if I even looked at him wrong and he hasn't seen him since forever.” 

 

“In forever, not since,” Lydia corrected gently, adding, “he's always been like that with those he loves. Give it time and he’ll fight for you just the same.” 

 

“I don't need someone to fight for me, I can handle myself, Lyds.” 

 

“I know you can, Malia, believe me. But Scott cares about you, I care about you, even  _ Peter  _ cares in his own way. If having Isaac around means one more person to help keep you alive, I'm all for it and so are they.” 

 

Malia shuffled her feet, looking down as a flush crept over her cheeks, she'd never much been one for emotions. “I care about all you guys too, especially you since you're my best friend and Scott because he’s my alpha.” 

 

“I'd say that's significant improvement over being willing to leave us in a desert. And really Malia, are you  _ sure  _ you only ‘especially like Scott’ because ‘he's your alpha?’” Malia shrugged indifferently at the teasing smile on Lydia’s face. 

 

“I don't like Scott like that, but even if I did I would never get between him and Isaac.” 

 

Lydia finally fully looked up from her AP chemistry textbook, tapping the eraser of a pencil thoughtfully against the pages. “Isaac and Scott?” 

 

“Yeah, why?” Malia shrugged and returned to her studies, worrying her lip between her teeth as she tried to remember what the rule was for converting to quadratic equations when you had cubed numbers.  _ Divide? No, that won't work here.  _

 

“What about Scott and Isaac?” Lydia had fully put down her pencil and was listening intently, Malia too absorbed to notice her friend’s behavior. 

 

“I don't know about their history, but I can tell they like each other.  _ Like  _ like each other.” 

 

Lydia had to smile at the phrasing, the accent on the first ‘like’ the universal sign for ‘crushing on.’ 

 

“They've always been close, Beta to Alpha, is that what you're seeing?” Lydia wanted all the facts, correct facts, mind you,  before she thought about this any further. 

 

Malia grumbled her discontent at Lydia’s questions and finally looked up, frowning. “No, that's not it. They practically smell like repressed emotions and unresolved sexual tension.” 

 

“I always thought Isaac could have sexual tension with anyone, it's his default state. That, and self-deprecation.” 

 

“Not to mention occasional protective rages,” the coyote added. “But why are you asking so many questions? Do I  _ want  _ to know why you're asking so many questions?” 

 

Lydia's full lips curled in a smile. “Probably not, but you're going to anyway, I want your help.” 

 

“Why me?”

 

“Why not you, Malia?”

  * • •



Lydia may be short and slight, but Isaac figured it made her no less terrifying as she backed him into a corner. He glanced around the McCall’s living room, looking for a viable exit.

 

“Don't panic, for the love of god. I just want to talk.” Her green eyes rolled back in her head in a startlingly accurate imitation of a Hale. 

 

“ _ I want to talk  _ are some of the scariest words in the English language,” Isaac retorted, “claws won't help with that.”

 

“No need to put your hackles up, pup. It's no big deal, just something about Scott.” 

 

He knew his tone was instantly filled with worry. “Did something happen? Is he okay?”

 

“Aside from being an idiot? He's perfectly okay. I guess you could say I’m here on behalf of the wolves.” The crinkle in Isaac’s brow was rather adorable as he tilted his head like a dog. “They've complained because you and Scott smell like unresolved sexual tension.” 

 

“Like  _ what? _ ” 

 

Lydia heaved a sigh. This might take longer than she'd initially thought. “I’m not a wolf or coyote but I can see it too. You love him, Isaac, and the feelings seem to be mutual. I don't want to rush you into anything, but the two of you are clueless and would never have figured it out on your own.”

 

Isaac pursed his lips, frowning slightly. “I do love him, but not in the way you're thinking, Lyds.” Lydia could see the gears spinning behind his eyes as he reached up, subconsciously tracing his fingers around the corners of his eyes. 

 

“When you do figure it out, tell him.” She turned on her heel, leaving the poor wolf alone in the living room.

  * • •



Malia was many things,  _ subtle _ not being one of them. Her too casual, “So, Isaac,” had the hair on Scott’s spine standing up. This was going to be trouble.

 

“What about Isaac?” Feigning casualty would hardly work on a werecoyote but damn if he wasn't going to try. 

 

“He's nice. Protective. He seems to really like you.” 

 

“Mhm,” was Scott’s only reply as he forcefully shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. He was glad Malia wasn't the judging type, he could practically hear Stiles’ voice in his head,  _ cereal at 3 in the afternoon? Really Scott? _

 

“ _ Really  _ like you,” Malia continued, and Scott's forehead thumped on the table. So that's where this was going. 

 

“ ’Lia, there's nothing going on between us.” 

 

Malia slid gracefully off the counter and pulled out the chair directly to Scott’s left, sitting down. “You know I have the same senses you do, right? I can tell how you feel, except,” she paused for a moment, cocking her head, “your heartbeat is steady. You really can't tell?”

 

“Malia, I love Isaac like a beta, a brother. It's- it's you that I-” he cut himself off, not wanting to say that word now, it was too early. Besides, the last two people he'd said that to…

 

Malia smiled knowingly. “I know you think you do, Scott, but love isn't thinking and it's not up here,” she tapped his forehead; “It's here,” she finished, tapping his chest with one finger. “The heart wants what it wants.” She stood and left, leaving Scott blinking after her. He'd forgotten that such frankness from the coyote could be more than sassing teachers and snarking at Peter. He'd also forgotten how intelligent she truly was, hidden behind her social ineptitude and tendency for poor table manners. 

  * • •



Isaac had started with every intention of jogging, like a normal human being, through the streets of Beacon Hills. This plan was soon abandoned as he picked up speed, racing ahead faster than any human could have. He navigated his way to the Preserve, sightings of a person running with preternatural speed down Oak Street would raise questions nobody wanted to answer. Wind whipped his curls around and made his eyes water as he sprinted, hoping that the extra speed might help him outrun his feelings. Maybe he could leave his heart behind while he was at it.

 

His brain had run in circles for nearly an hour before he'd decided to get outside, clear his head. While a part of him knew Lydia was right, he couldn't bring himself to admit what that meant for him, so he'd run. 

 

Isaac stopped, gasping for breath in the middle of Beacon Hills preserve with not a soul in sight for miles and only the half-moon for company. He waved at it, then felt stupid and dropped his hand. He tilted his head to listen to the forest for a moment and heard a rustling. He spun around with his claws out but it was only a coyote. It was the four-legged kind, and its eyes didn't glow as it regarded him for a moment. Apparently not deeming him a threat, it scampered off into the woods. 

 

He heaved a sigh and turned to go back home, setting an easier pace. As he passed through the neighborhood where his old house was he felt a tug, what he supposed was a homing instinct pulling towards the old Lahey house. It had never been sold, the property was held by the government until Isaac turned eighteen, as he was named the successor for the house, (after Camden of course) but he'd fled to France and never claimed it. Ivy crept up the walls and paint chipped, giving it an ominous look. Isaac suddenly hated it. He wanted it to stay like this, unkempt until it crumbled, declared unsafe and condemned. 

 

Unwillingly, his feet traveled around to the back of the house, where he picked up a spare key from under a rock and unlocked the door. The hinges creaked after years of being left to rust, and Isaac winced at the noise. Once inside he walked, as if in a trance, down the basement stairs, the same ones he'd been dragged down countless times. 

 

Standing in front of the freezer a rage overtook him and he snarled, eyes flashing as he raked massive gouges in the side. The metal tore under his claws like butter, leaving four perfect lines. And with that, the feeling was gone. This house was no longer his home. He'd held on for years, during and after his father’s abuse, but not anymore. 

 

Satisfied, he turned to leave, going home, home to  _ Scott.  _

  * • •



When Isaac tumbled through his window well past midnight, Scott had clearly decided he wasn't going to ask any questions. He just tossed a towel at the beta and told him, 

 

“If you're sleeping in here, you're showering first.” Isaac’s grin was sheepish as he retreated into the bathroom, because really, he wasn't sleeping in his own room and they both knew it. 

 

As the hot water poured over his shoulders and steam rose around him he thought about what Lydia had told him, and the more he considered her words the more he realized- she had a point. While she might or might not be correct on everything (though with Lydia she likely was), it was an easy conclusion to come to that he did indeed have to tell Scott.

 

Sometimes, Isaac thinks, it's easier to fight for his life against a pack of Alphas than say a few simple words.  _ Okay. So don't tell him that, tell him something else.  _ Isaac hated when the logical part of his brain thought of things but he was right, he had to give him something. 

 

< >

 

“Scott, you awake?”

 

“Yeah, what's up?” Scott's words were slurred with sleep, making Isaac think he'd just woken him. 

 

When Isaac didn't say anything for nearly a minute Scott rolled over so he was facing the beta and raised an eyebrow, but true to form he didn’t push. 

 

“About six months after I first moved to Paris, a local alpha got wind there was a wolf living on her land. She was incredibly territorial and didn’t like the idea of someone else’s pack that close to her and hers. She especially didn’t like that I lived with a hunter. The Argents are known everywhere but they’re most famous in France. 

 

“I was near the apartment, walking home one day, when she and two of her betas jumped me, dragged me to God-knows-where. She confronted me, wanting to know what I was doing, trying to warn me off her territory. At the time my French was barely-passable so I understood little of what she was saying, just enough to get the gist. Just enough to know I wasn't going to submit to some second-rate Alpha who thought she could intimidate me by acting like a 1960’s New York mobster from a movie. 

 

“Once it became clear I wasn't having it she had her betas bring out chains. They were likely to tie me up, but I’ll never know. When I saw them they reminded me too much of my father, I just- snapped. 

 

“Before I knew it both betas were dead, the alpha was injured, and I was running faster than I ever have.” Isaac finished his story with a shrug, picking at his cuticles to avoid making eye contact with Scott. 

 

“Hey, look at me.” Scott’s voice was so gentle Isaac had to look up. There was no pity in Scott’s dark eyes, only understanding. “The fact that you have killed doesn't make you a killer, it doesn't make you a bad person. You're no less  _ you  _ than before it happened.” 

 

Isaac didn't respond, just turned over in bed so his back was to Scott. He took some of the blankets with him, because if he's going to kill like a monster, he may as well act like one in daily life. He didn't miss Scott’s quiet, sad sigh, or the shuffling as he turned over too. 

  * • •



As soon as the hard shell surrounding him cracked slightly, Isaac roared, arms flinging wide as he burst from the stone like a behemoth sea creature from under the waves. 

 

The library doors slammed into the walls behind them, hinges bending, as he exploded through the doorway. Scott was sitting on the steps, surrounded by a few of the pack. Isaac almost asked aloud what was wrong with the alpha before he saw him properly. His eyes were a mess of dark blood, trails of it pouring down his face and drying in a dripping pattern that was almost beautiful, if incredibly morbid. 

 

“If he doesn't heal soon, it may be too late,” Derek warned. Never mind that this was Isaac’s first encounter with his former Alpha in years, he didn't much feel like saying hello. 

 

He knew he sounded near hysterical as he asked, frustration pouring through his words, “Well what the fuck are we supposed to do?” 

 

“Doesn't pain sometimes help speed up healing?” Liam suggested from behind. 

 

Lydia cut in, “I think he's in enough pain as-is.” Realization dawned on her face. “Kiss him.” 

 

“What? Who?” Liam was confused, and clearly in pain through his bond with his Alpha. 

 

“Not you, Liam. Isaac.” 

 

Isaac just shook his head. “Why me?” 

 

Even as he asked this he could see something in Lydia’s eyes, a surety accompanied by a hint of wistfulness, almost nostalgia. Not missing the glance Lydia sent Stiles he figured something must have happened between them, and if it had worked for Stiles and Lydia, the paragon of true love…  _ Oh fuck it.  _

 

The instant Scott’s lips met his he seemed to come alive again, strength filling his body as he sat up, leaned into the kiss slightly. Opening his eyes after a long moment, Isaac pulled back to see Scott looking at him in wonder, eyes healed and glowing Alpha red. 

  * • •



“Je t’aime.” 

 

Isaac’s voice was a near whisper but Scott heard him just fine with his sharp hearing. It took a minute to puzzle out what it meant, French class felt like it was so long ago, but once he did he smiled. 

 

“Te amo.” 

 

Isaac had never learned a word of Spanish, even so he figured he could take an educated guess at what that meant. 

 

In English now, Scott added, “I’ve got to shower, get all this blood off me.” He'd stripped off his shirt and his hands rested on the waistband of his jeans. 

 

Isaac shrugged, “it's nothing I haven't seen before.” With six words the feel of the room changed like the flip of a switch. Seconds ago it had been soft, gentle, but now it was charged with tension. More to prove a point than anything, Isaac lifted his own shirt over his head, dropping it to the floor beside him while breaking eye contact for as little time as possible. 

 

Scott’s heartbeat echoed in his ears but he had the feeling his was no quieter, especially as his gaze dropped from Scott’s dark eyes, trailing down his tanned, muscled body.

 

Scott swallowed loudly, even as he undid the button on his jeans and dropped them so they pooled around his ankles, black boxers following. He turned, sliding the shower curtain aside and stepping in, but not before casting a long look at Isaac. 

 

Isaac’s remaining clothes joined Scotts’ on the floor and he stepped in behind him. 

 

Everything burned. The water pouring over them was hot, steam rose into the air, fogging the mirror and making every surface slick. It was more than that, though. Every inch of bare skin that Scott touched burned with desire for  _ more.  _ He wrapped long fingers around Scott’s bicep, digging them in as if they could keep him grounded. 

 

God knows he needed grounding. Never mind that his anchor was right in front of him; the fact that aforementioned anchor was naked and dripping in water meant he struggled for control more than ever. With each noise from deep in Scott’s throat, with each new bruise left from his teeth, with each fiery touch trailing down his body he slipped closer to that dark, beckoning edge. 

 

Maybe control was overrated, though, because none of Derek’s full moon lessons and none of the iron walls he’d built around his wolf came anywhere close to this. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Easter Egg:  
> "I didn't have the money to call France," was what Scott said to Stiles, in the show, after Stiles expressed incredulity at the fact that Scott *texted* Argent to let him know Kate was alive. Smh Scoot :/ 
> 
> Side Note: Idk if Parisian street numbers are different I just needed a reason for Scott to get lost-ish. Also, I know NO French or anything about France/ French/ Paris/ anything along that vein (though I'm highly conversational in Spanish so I could do that a little better)
> 
> Yes, I did rewrite and repurpose the Scalia shower scene. Don't @ me


End file.
